


Private Concerns

by Scruggzi



Series: A Bit of Biff [1]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Phryne pov, Poor Jack, how we make him suffer, phrack banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 18:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18211856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi
Summary: Phryne drops by the station to find that Jack is hiding something...personal.





	Private Concerns

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Seldarius for helping me with my writing slump and geenee27 for the beta read.

“There’s going to be trouble when Miss Fisher finds out…”

Phryne caught the scrap of conversation as she pushed open the door to City South and was greeted by the sight of Hugh Collins, and another young constable whose name she dimly recalled was Peters.

Neither of the men would do well in a game of poker.

“When Miss Fisher finds out about what?” she asked silkily, depositing the lunch basket she had brought on the counter and directing her sweetest smile at the younger man. Collins was getting better at resisting her these days, she suspected Jack had been giving him lessons.

Peters, who looked barely out of his teens, blushed scarlet and looked pleadingly at his superior officer, and Hugh, who was still far more of a soft touch than the Inspector had ever been, apparently decided that there was no point in hiding the matter from her.

“There was a bit of a tussle down at the docks Miss,” Phryne spotted the glance towards Jack’s office and for a split second her heart clenched in her chest before common sense overruled it. If there was something seriously wrong, Hugh would have told her, he wouldn’t obfuscate.

Collins lowered his voice, apparently hoping to keep his concerns under his superior’s radar.

“He wouldn’t see a doctor,” the unspoken addition that perhaps she could talk some sense into the man was clear enough. What had her inspector been up to?

She nodded, extracted a wrapped package containing some of Mr Butler’s famous biscuits, and handed them to Hugh by way of thanks. There were still plenty of goodies left to tempt Jack with if he proved reluctant to divulge his secrets.

“Afternoon, Jack.” She called, entering his office without knocking in the hope of securing an advantage.

Careful scrutiny of the man behind the desk revealed a small cut above his eye, the surrounding area a little swollen and starting to bruise, apart from that though he appeared undamaged. Perhaps Hugh was overreacting, although Jack did seem to be sitting a little more stiffly than usual and his voice when he replied was grumpier than any man’s should be when a lady had just brought him lunch.

“Good afternoon, Miss Fisher. To what do I owe the pleasure?” he did not sound as if it was a pleasure at all, and that could not be allowed to stand.

“Busy morning?” she evaded the question deftly and gestured at his bruised face.

“A suspect in a string of burglaries was reluctant to co-operate. Can I help you with something?”

“Now don’t be like that, Jack. I brought you lunch.”

“It take it that means the answer is yes.”

She shrugged, waving the issue away as if it were an irrelevant detail rather than the main reason for her visit.

“I have a feeling one of my suspects is hiding a criminal record, I was hoping you could help me look, but it will keep.”

“I’m sure Collins will be able to assist you.”

“Now I know something’s wrong. You never give in that easily and you haven’t even asked what’s for lunch. Hugh seemed to think you were hurt?”

There was clearly more going on here than just a black eye. He might still feign irritation at her meddling, but it had been a long time since he had been this uncooperative, at least without a good reason.

“Just drop it Miss Fisher.”

She shifted the basket until it covered the paperwork he was pretending to concentrate on and took up a perch on the corner of his desk.”

“Lunch, Jack. Derek Mathers’ arrest report is not going anywhere.”

He couldn’t quite conceal his amusement and admiration at her ability to read his paperwork upside-down whilst apparently focused on distracting him. He had once, in a moment of post-coital confidence, confessed that it was her infuriating cleverness that he found so irresistible. It was a complement she had felt deeply and had made a note to continue being as clever and irresistible as possible whenever he was around. It was always nice to have one’s assets appreciated.

Taking heart, she pressed her advantage, whipping the towel off the basket to reveal a dish of gratin with bacon, a new recipe that Mr Butler had prepared especially. It was still warm, and the scent was heavenly, more than enough to tempt a hungry policeman, she could practically see him salivating.

She scooped up a forkful, meeting his eyes, which had softened as they shared the happy memory the scene evoked. He leaned forward to receive the morsel but before he reached it, he winced hard and a sharp cast of pain formed around his eyes as he sat back in a hurry.

In a futile attempt to cover up the reaction he reached out to take the fork from her.

“Bribery, will get you no-where, Miss Fisher.”

It was a feeble rejoinder and Phryne was not fooled for a moment. Besides, she had spotted something as she leaned in with her forkful of gratin.

Jack Robinson was sitting on a cushion.

She had only caught a glimpse of it at the edge of his chair, he was tucked too tightly under the desk for a better view. It did, however, strike her as deeply suspicious.

“Not bribery, Jack. Merely a token of my appreciation.”

She was barely listening to herself, their banter now such a natural part of their dynamic that it came without effort – not that it made it any less fun – giving her the opportunity to consider her next move.    

She extracted a second fork as if intending to join him in his repast, but instead allowed it to slip from her fingers, hitting the floor with a faintly musical jangle.

“Oops! Clumsy me!”

The pretence was so deliberate that it managed to draw a real smile from him, and she saw his shoulders sag a little as he resigned himself to his fate. Really, he should know better than to try and hide things from her at this point anyway.

Crouching down under the table, Phryne ignored the fork and instead proceeded to make a quick inspection of the front of Jack’s trousers. There were a couple of little rips in the knees where he had clearly fallen to the ground and the mark of a large boot near the crotch.

She pinched her nose in exasperation, an expression she realised as she did it, she had copied from him. So that was why he was refusing a doctor’s assistance. Honestly. Men.

She extracted herself and the fork from under the desk and glared at him, not bothering to waste time on pretence.

“I take it the man responsible for your…predicament is now down in the cells?”

She was clutching the fork in a slightly threatening manner and considering its manifold possible uses; she was rather attached to the contents of Jack’s trousers and whilst he might be hiding it, it was plain to see he was in pain.

“He is. And Facing charges of assault on a police officer in addition to burglary and petty theft.”

 “Not to mention derailing our supper plans. Perhaps I should go have a quick word on that subject myself.”

“Phryne.” It was a warning growl, which was very unfair given how unlikely he was to follow through on it, but he also looked rather touched at her response. Even after months together he still seemed surprised at just how much she relished their physical intimacy.

“Oh alright. But don’t think you’re going home to sulk, Jack Robinson. I expect you at Wardlow for 6 o’clock as planned.”

He did blush then, backed into a corner and forced to admit defeat.

“I’m afraid I might not be up to…”

“Eating dinner? In that case there really must be something wrong with you.”

He gave her a pleading look, but she refused to relent.

“Either I am going to look over the extent of your injuries later tonight, or I am going to telephone Dr Mac right now and have her visit you in your office. Make your choice, Inspector.”

He sighed heavily, closing his eyes as a smile fought its way onto his face. Victory.

“In that case I suppose I can submit to your bedside manner.”

His voice was softer than she had expected, perhaps he hadn’t expected this level of concern from her. She was not a woman to fret over minor injuries, they were part of the job after all, and he was not a man who wanted or needed mollycoddling. It was a precious thing, she had found, to be let in at these moments, to care for him, to let him care for her. All the more so because, whilst they might both encourage the other to take care, neither would ever ask them to stop taking the risks they needed to take. The work was too important.

She slipped off the desk and kissed him softly, brushing a finger over the cut on his face, checking there was no serious damage underneath the bruise. Satisfied she pulled back, pleased to see that he seemed relatively relaxed as long as he wasn’t exerting himself. It suggested his injuries were probably not too serious.

“Unless of course you would prefer to accompany me now? Whiskey and a hot bath can work miracles.”

He did look tempted, but sadly duty prevailed, and he shook his head.

“Tonight, I promise.”

“And I reserve the right to call in a doctor if I find anything seriously wrong with you.”

He didn’t look happy at the prospect but nodded, reluctantly.

“I’m fine, Phryne, just a little sore, I’ve had much worse.”

“I’ve no doubt, but I still intend to judge for myself.”

“I’ll see you at 6 o’clock.”

Phryne nodded, abandoning the basket and retrieving her hat from the guest chair, she took her leave.

“Oh, Inspector,” she added as an afterthought, “my suspect, if I leave the details with Hugh, would you mind?”

“I’ll see what I can do, Miss Fisher.” He rolled his eyes in fond exasperation as she sashayed out of his office, leaving him to enjoy an excellent lunch, and feeling sore, but considerably more cheerful than before she had arrived.

Whatever she might say about the healing power of whisky, where he was concerned, Phryne Fisher seemed more than capable of working miracles.


End file.
